Nevada Easy©, the TV mini-series, and soon, the novel

A couple of years ago, I came up with an idea for a novel and a television mini-series based on the novel. As it turned out, I first wrote Episode I of the four-part, eight-hour screenplay and copyrighted that along with an outline/synopsis for episodes II-IV. I'm converting the story into a novel at the present time.

Nevada Easy© is a James Michener-style story following five generations of a family. The mini-series is written in the spirit of historical dramas, "North and South," "Roots" and "John Adams."

Nevada Easy relates the saga of the powerful (and fictional) Jericho family of Nevada, set against the turbulent history of that state as well as northern California in the Gold Rush days and even Russian Alaska. Nevada Easy is also the name of the largest chain of casino hotels in the world, run today by the last surviving member of the wealthy side of the Jericho family, the glamorous but tough-as-nails Queen of Las Vegas, Victoria Jericho.

The secret of the Nevada Easy fortune unfolds in Episode I -- two brothers are prospecting in 1859 in Washoe Territory (Northern Nevada), near what is now Reno. Together, they discover the richest lode of silver in history. That night, alone on the mountainside, they revel in their find, drinking themselves drunk. Old rivalries and jealousies flare, and they begin to fight. The older brother Zebulon takes a rock and strikes his brother Ezekiel dead.

Two weeks after his brother's funeral, Zebulon returns to the site of the discovery and files the claim as if he had found the silver by himself. He names his claim the "Nevada E-Z" -- "E" for his late brother Ezekiel and "Z" for his own name, Zebulon. Zebulon's (not Ezekiel's) heirs share in the huge wealth that the silver generates, and his sons and grandsons use the fortune to become railroad barons, wealthy ranchers, and finally in the 20th and 21st Centuries, owners of the Nevada Easy Casinos.

Present-day Reno newspaper reporter Lee Jericho, the last of the poor side of the Jericho family, discovers Zebulon's previously unknown confession, in which the guilt-ridden murderer decrees that after his death, BOTH sides of the family ought to share equally in the Nevada Easy wealth.

Also in the present day, Dian DeLeo, the young and sensual daughter of Arizona's nationally respected governor finds out that she was actually given up for adoption at birth by a woman identified only as "L. Jericho of Nevada." The young woman sets out to find her birth parents and becomes involved in the Jericho family fight, and -- with her new lover, Lee Jericho -- she and he encounter a series of deadly confrontations with a mobster determined to maintain his behind-the-scenes hold on Victoria and her Nevada Easy casino empire.

Why am I telling you all of this? Simple - I'm hoping that somewhere out there, someone is, or knows, a Hollywood producer willing to take a look at my screenplay. Can YOU help me out?

If you can help, please contact me, or have someone write to me, at peretsky@verizon.net.

While I'm waiting for that producer's call or email, I'm converting Nevada Easy into the novel I dreamed about.

Here are the beginning paragraphs in Chapter 1 of the book... (I'd re-print the opening act of the screenplay, but it's easier for you to read it in straight prose.) Enjoy!
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NEVADA EASY© By Burt Peretsky
Chapter 1 – The Confession

“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Sullivan.” Lee Jericho was already talking as he reached to shake the lawyer’s hand. “I have a hell of a story to tell, and I promise it won’t be a waste of your time.”

“Nonsense, Lee. There’s no clock on us. And, please... don’t call me Mister. It’s Jack.”

Attorney John Joseph Sullivan’s baritone spoke authority. He motioned to a sofa and the two upholstered chairs that were set in front of a highly varnished redwood stump coffee table. “Have a seat,” he ordered.

Two end tables with ornate Chinese lamps on either side of the sofa and a magnificent Oriental rug complemented the half of the office that simulated a living room. A massive mahogany desk set in front of a black leather, high-back swivel chair, a matching mahogany credenza, and two five-foot rubber plants anchored in Chinese porcelain filled the other half. Through the floor-to-ceiling double window in Sullivan’s office and its horizontal Venetian blinds that were open to the morning sun, the city of Reno bustled in a fresh-fallen snow some 20 floors below. Beyond in one direction, Slide Mountain rose over the valley; in another, the Virginia Foothills rolled outward from the high desert. “Can Theresa get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Lee chose to sit on the sofa and immediately regretted his choice. His thin frame sunk uncomfortably in the too-soft cushions. His knees went up, as his ass went down. He felt foolishly inconspicuous as Sullivan settled into one of the chairs, his eyes at least a foot higher than Lee’s.

“You told me at the newspaper office that you had a good story, and frankly, I was intrigued. That’s why I made some time to see you today.” Sullivan was lying, of course. He was more than intrigued; he was hoping this particular reporter’s “good story” would yield some work outside of the norm. And business was slow, extremely slow.

Sullivan occasionally picked up a piece of personal legal business in the course of his representation of the Reno World Journal. While it was interesting work, representation of the newspaper wasn’t making him rich. And Sullivan, proud of his Stanford Law School pedigree, was jealous of his classmates in San Francisco, in Sacramento, and even two of them living in Reno who were racking up the big cases, and importantly, the big fees. To make matters worse, his wife Susan seemed fond of reminding him that he was not a partner in the firm; “not even a junior partner,” went her refrain.

Most of Sullivan’s days were spent keeping reporters out of libel trouble. Wary editors would flag stories to be faxed to Sullivan for his comments prior to their being printed. Sullivan would occasionally suggest a change of wording, or he would insist on a second or third corroborative quote or fact for the story prior to it being used.

Once in a rare while, he would actually see the inside of a courtroom, more often than not to wrest documents from the power structure into the “right to know” domain of the press, but most often to play second fiddle to TV station lawyers arguing for cameras in the courtrooms. The World Journal would always back the stations with briefs of its own when the question of news media access was being debated.

Serving the public, or at least serving the prurient interests of the public, had its charms, but it wasn’t making Jack Sullivan rich.

“You also said it had nothing to do with your job at the paper. I assume you need some legal advice.” The lawyer’s voice rose. “Am I correct?”

“You are, sir.”

“Then go right ahead, Lee. Tell me your story.”

“OK! Here goes.” Lee spoke quietly, as was his nature. “To make a long story short,” he paused for effect.... “I think I have proof that I am one of the rightful heirs to the Nevada Easy fortune.” This time the pause was longer; Lee wanted a response from the lawyer.

Lee didn’t look like an heir to a fortune. He didn’t look the part of a newspaper reporter either. What he did look like in those years was, like, young. Even in Reno, where many look the other way to minors drinking and gambling, at 36, Lee was constantly being carded. His typical choice of attire never helped his case, either. Incongruously, even now, sitting in – or sinking into – the sofa of Sullivan’s lavishly appointed law office, he was wearing, as he always wore, faded blue jeans, tall brown leather boots, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Except it wasn’t a baseball cap -- it bore the logo of the Utah Jazz basketball team.

Lee’s sandy blond hair peeked out from under the front of his cap, forming something of a curl nearly hiding his right eye. Behind his head, a shock of unruly hair – it probably looked almost matted -- hung nearly down to his neck.

Sullivan eyed the reporter, and Lee stared back. In the pause that had been prompted, the slight smile on Lee’s face turned into a grin.

Finally, Sullivan spoke. “You’re a cousin to the Jerichos who own Nevada Easy, aren’t you?”

“That’s right, but I’m in the poor half of the family. Or at least, I was ’til now.”

Sullivan pondered that for a moment. “Okay, Mr. Jericho” -- “Jack” was calling him “Mister” now -- “explain what you mean. Pretend I don’t know anything about Nevada Easy. Put it to me as if you were writing a news story, you know, who, what, when, where, and why.”

Lee laughed. “You forgot ‘how,’ Mr. Sullivan. The ‘how’ is the most important thing in this story,” he said, pausing again for effect.

This time, Sullivan bit. “Okay, don’t forget the ‘how.’”

“Mr. Sullivan,” Lee made it formal, also for effect, “I assume, that you, like most people around this state, know that the Nevada Easy fortune began with a silver strike back in 1859 right here in this part of the state. My great, great, grand-uncle was supposed to have discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. In fact, he named it in honor of himself, Zebulon, and his recently departed brother, Ezekiel, my great, great grandfather. The ‘E’ in Ezekiel and the ‘Z’ in Zebulon led to it being called ‘Nevada E-Z.’”

“I kinda remember hearing all that once or twice,” the lawyer noted, “and, if I’m not mistaken, the ‘Nevada E-Z’ later became ‘Nevada Easy,’ when the claim became one of the biggest in the state’s history.”

“Correction, Mr. Sullivan, it was the biggest in the state’s history. It even made the Comstock Lode look small by comparison.”

“So, if you’re one of the heirs to this fortune already, why are you saying you’re in the poor half of the family?” The lawyer leaned over to focus on the answer.

“That’s the rest of my story, Mr. Sullivan. My great, great, grandfather, my direct ancestor, had already died when his brother made his claim on the silver mine, and so it was my cousins, the children of my great, great, grand-uncle Zebulon, and their children who became rich; it was they whose mines helped the Union pay for the Civil War; it was they who became the railroad barons in the latter half of the 19th Century and the casino owners of the 20th and 21st Centuries. My side of the family never did share in the money.”

“I see. I’m sorry.” The lawyer was hooked. He had heard about the Nevada Easy fortune and how it began. Just about everyone who had been brought up in Nevada knew the story. But, he hadn’t heard about Lee’s unlucky side of the family. No sir, that wasn’t the stuff of history. Not at all!

Lee caught his breath and began again. “But now, I have proof that my great, great grandfather Ezekiel Jericho was actually killed by his brother Zebulon, after, together, they discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. Since 1859, everybody has thought that my great, great grand-uncle discovered the silver by himself, some time after his brother’s death, and that the death of my grandfather -- you know, my great, great grandfather -- was by accident.

“I can prove today that they discovered the silver together, before my great, great grandfather was actually murdered by his brother. It was no accident, as everybody’s believed until now. It was murder, and I can prove it.”

The words tumbled out now. “I can prove that my great, great grandfather’s heirs, as well as my great, great grand-uncle’s heirs, ought to be sharing in that fortune the brothers discovered together, and I can prove today that it was murder that left half my family rich and my half poor, that it was cold-blooded murder.” Once again, Lee paused. He had rehearsed this speech for a week, and he figured a pause would be most effective after the word “murder.”

The word seemed to echo in the silence the two of them then shared.

Finally, the lawyer reacted. “You can prove,” he stated and asked at once, “that somebody killed his brother a century-and-a-half ago?”

“Yes, I have his confession,” again a pause, “I have his confession in writing.”
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I hope to have the novel ready to submit to agents and publishers some time very soon. In the meantime, I have -- for Hollywood's consideration -- Nevada Easy©, the TV mini-series.

Burt Peretsky